


Howl

by time_transfixed



Category: Town of Salem (Video Game)
Genre: ??? - Freeform, Gen, How Do I Tag This, Mild Gore, mostly implied - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-25
Updated: 2018-11-25
Packaged: 2019-08-29 01:23:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16734357
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/time_transfixed/pseuds/time_transfixed
Summary: The Werewolf hadn't been fully himself in years.





	Howl

The Werewolf leads a very simple, boring life. For him there are no sleepless nights spent gathering information, no orchestrating murders or grandiose plans. He keeps up a sporadic attendance in town meetings and returns to his bed every night to sleep. 

It’s a quiet lifestyle, but it’s kept him alive, which is more than what could be said for some of the other less fortunate members of the town. 

***  
Something in him _itches_. He claws and gnaws at it until something wet trickles down and he’s forced to stop. He must’ve been bitten by one of those mosquitos that have been buzzing around his house, though what they’re doing here when it’s been far too cold for them to breed is beyond him. 

Somewhere in his dreams the neighbor’s dog is howling again. He wishes the damn thing would just _shut up._

Somebody’s outside. He can hear leaves crunching, somebody mumbling, talking, just _shut up already._

***  
He rummages briefly around his cabinet. Funny, he could’ve sworn he kept a few spare mugs in the cabinet. Had he broken some in the past month and just forgotten to replace them? He’d have to go buy some later. 

“Sorry,” the Werewolf says, “I can’t seem to find any of my mugs, so I can’t offer you any water or tea or anything like that.” 

“That’s fine. Just tell me where you were on the last full moon night.” 

Where _had_ he been? The Werewolf’s memory is hazy at best these days. “In my house, I suppose.” 

“You suppose?” The Sheriff raises an eyebrow. 

“I--I’m not sure. But I don’t go or do anything past sunset, so there’s no way I would’ve been anywhere else.” 

“Hm alright. You should be careful out there,” she smiles at him, “what with rumors of this wolf on the loose, the streets of Salem are even more dangerous.” 

***  
He’s so _hungry_. All the damn time. It’s not enough, never _enough_ , he needs more--

What had he been doing that night? 

“Hey, you should fix your door,” the Escort calls. 

“What’s wrong with my door?”

“There’s a huge scratch on it for one,” the Escort deadpans. “You really should notice some of these things.” 

***  
Somebody’s yelling, screaming in his ear. He rolls over. Perhaps it’s his mother, telling him to wake up in time for school again. Just five more minutes, yes? Five more minutes and then he would get up and help her cook breakfast…

***  
There’s fur stuck between the floorboards. He frowns. He can’t remember the Executioner bringing their incessant nuisance of a dog over the last few times, but surely that was the only way there could be tufts of fur in his house yet again. He doesn’t know why they bother bringing that irritating creature along, the silly non-stop yapping is enough to give him a headache, and it gets its infernal hairs everywhere and the Werewolf values nothing more than his privacy and his cleanliness. 

The rumors about a Werewolf in town are picking up steam. There’s been sightings recently. Flashes caught on camera. Even the Mayor’s slightly concerned, which says a lot. 

The Werewolf lies down in bed and doesn’t let it bother him. 

***  
“Ah, sorry to be back so soon,” the Sheriff gives him another strained smile as she steps in. “But I had a few follow-up questions that I needed to verify with you. I hope you don’t mind.” 

_Yes, I would mind very much._

For a moment all he can think of is the Sheriff’s neck, so thin and slender. It would snap so easily, and father had always said that the flesh on the neck was the best part of the bird--

“I just couldn’t help but notice how little friends you have,” the Sheriff interrupts his train of thought. She hesitates, “Or well-- I didn’t mean to put it like that, certainly, but I was wondering if you have anyone who can verify that you were where you said you were on the last full moon night.” 

“Well, Sheriff, as you say I have very few friends. But the Lookout, I’m sure, would be able to tell you, he was watching my house for that night.” 

“The Lookout is dead,” the Sheriff says, suddenly looking at him in an entirely different light. 

_Kill her, kill her,_ the voice in the back of his head snarls, _she’s onto us, she’ll tell the rest of her colleagues, then we won’t be able to go hunting anymore--_

“Oh,” he says, feeling rather stupid. 

“How often do you attend town meetings?” the Sheriff asks him, adjusting her glasses. 

“Often enough.” 

“Which is?” 

“Every few weeks or so?” He offers weakly. “I’m not a fan of the going ons of most town meetings; I’ll be glad when we get rid of all of the evildoers but I’d really rather not have to witness the various hangings and executions.” 

“The Town needs every member to contribute. I suggest you catch up on all of the recent going ons and make sure to mark all the meeting dates.” To his relief, she seems satisfied enough with his half-explanation. “Good day.” 

The moment she leaves he feels himself breathe a sigh of relief, which surely isn’t rational. He’s a respectable town member even if he is a bit of a loner, surely he has nothing to fear from the Sheriff’s interrogations. 

He has the sudden urge to go find a snack. Something warm, perhaps? He’s been eating too much cold meat these past few days, and his stomach’s been queasy ever since he went to bed the last full moon. 

What _had_ he eaten that night? It must’ve been something awful. His teeth had hurt terribly afterwards, so something more crunchy, or maybe he had been grinding them in his sleep again? Perhaps he ought to go see the Doctor for some kind of medicine. Certainly it would help him sleep better. 

He wonders why the Escort doesn’t visit these days, not anymore. It’s a pity, he had enjoyed her company, but he supposes solitude is the best he can expect in this town.

**Author's Note:**

> is it realistic for the WW to have gone this long without at least suspecting something? no
> 
> am I still going to write it that way? yes 
> 
> I'm going to regret writing this when I wake up tomorrow


End file.
